


Silentium Amoris

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris, City of Love: Paris (Ubisoft) - Fandom
Genre: AU at this point, City of Love: Paris (Ubisoft), F/M, Spoilers for S2E6, Written before S2E7 came out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: The main character finds herself in a familiar location, close to an old adversary, but she's almost certain that's preferable to anything else after the painful afternoon of Kat's memorial.  Vincent/MC one-shot based on the cliffhanger of S2E6.





	Silentium Amoris

She looked at Hugo with a stunned expression, unable to find words.  The memorial had been taxing enough on its own, regardless of Leo's outburst, and she had barely slept.  

And now Vincent had escaped from prison?  She thought he was just pushing boundaries for the sake of pushing boundaries and getting his way.  The man was never in his cell to begin with and yet no one seemed to care.

"He...what? How?" She asked, eyes narrowing.  

"He...walked right out the front gate. Apparently there was a riot going on and Vincent just...walked right into the streets of Paris."

"Vincent Karm doesn't just disappear, Inspector." She snapped, rubbing a hand down her face. "He's tall, dressed in a designer suit, and has cheekbones sharp enough to kill.  He's distinctive.  Catching him won't be that hard."

"Says the only woman to ever best the criminal mastermind.  You almost sound like you admire him."  Hugo gave her a pointed look as she felt her face heat up.  "I have to go.  Let me know if he contacts you."

She stood on the sidewalk, the nostalgia from Canal St. Martin twisting in her stomach with grief.  Such a beautiful area once reminded her of her initial excitement of first arriving to Paris, and all of the late night fun she had with Kat; it was now marred with memories of death.  Late to her best friend's memorial, watching everyone like a hawk hoping the killer wasn't someone in attendance, and now this.

He would.  He honestly would just walk out of the gates like he owned the place.  And he had impeccable timing.

His words from her first visit with him came to mind; they were destined to meet again.  He knew too much to not be useful.  And Vincent was always five steps ahead of everyone around him.

_ I have a feeling I know where Vincent is...the one place he might be able to blend in... _

All of his property had been seized, his assets frozen, his passport taken.  His office was a no go, and so was his lab.  

She set off for Opera Garnier, hoping she was correct.

* * *

He was the sole occupant of the theatre box, easy to spot. The lights were on, the curtain not yet drawn.   She was beginning to think the opera was simply everyone's new meeting spot, considering her last run in with Henri.

If Vincent noticed her come into the box, his body language didn't indicate it.  She smoothed her skirt and took the seat to his right, crossing her legs at the ankles.  

He said nothing, but held up an empty vial in a plastic bag, the remnants of a glowing, luminescent liquid at the bottom.  His eyes were drawn across the gilded architecture, drinking in everything as if it had been a lifetime and not two years.

She raised an eyebrow at him, hesitantly taking the bag from him.  "You didn't..."

"No.  You know me better than that." He sounded insulted, clearly annoyed she would even consider asking such questions.

"You value control too much. But you did try to have me killed. Multiple times. Why should I trust you now?"  

"And I'm paying penance for those sins."  He looked at her with an amused face but she wasn't as gleeful as he was, keeping her face stern.  Vincent sighed softly and glanced to the side, clearly finding her disapproval boring.  "You already decided to trust me the day you accepted my offer to clear your name.  I'm many things, Ms. (l/n), but I've never proven myself to be a liar."

"No, you haven't." She agreed, her tone holding an unspoken apology.

"I kept an extra vial on the chance you and your friends succeeded.  I told no one, but I suppose anyone skillful enough knew I enjoyed opera and could ask what box I owned.  It was wiped for prints before I left it, so the only prints should be your killer's."  He drawled, leaning back in the seat.

"Who owns this box now?"

"I asked, they only said the owner was out of town."

"Most people know you're a criminal and would call the police after seeing you."  

"So do you.  And yet here you are, unescorted."  His eye contact was often piercing and direct, and this moment was no different.  She realized the two of them had never really been...alone like this since he had invited her to Faust.  The seats were close together, the space itself intimate and meant for only two people.  She had only been closer to him once, to try and get the upper hand by fixing his tie and batting her eyelashes, but he saw through her.

He looked away first, drawing his gaze to the audience below them.  "I heard the memorial was today."

"It was."  It was her turn to look away; today had not gone according to plan, at all.  She felt guilty for not focusing on Kat and despite his childish behavior, a part of her knew Leo was right when he called her out for it. Perhaps she hadn't allowed herself to properly grieve, throwing herself into the investigation instead. Hoping it would give her peace.

Or had he been expecting her to be too distraught with grief to bother chasing her killer?

“I’m sorry about Katherine.  For whatever that may be worth to you, coming from the person who once kidnapped her.”  Vincent murmured, his eyes falling back to her.

“Thank you,” She replied, picking away dust from her skirt in an attempt to find something to occupy her eyes, her mind, her hands.  She felt a prickling behind her eyes at the mention of Kat, one she had been fighting since that night in jail.  But she wouldn't let herself get upset, not now; Vincent would only use that to his advantage, surely.  

His apology felt genuine, more than the ones she had gotten from those who worked closer with Kat. She remembered when she had first met him, how he had laid his intentions before her, hiding nothing.  Her ex-fiancé had felt less sincere than the man whose plans she had ruined but Raphael wasn’t the best with verbal communication.  Sarah, on the other hand, treated her like a burden, like Kat’s death was just an inconvenience.  “It means more than you think, considering how flippant others have treated it.”

She knew he understood exactly who she meant.  Funny how Sarah had hired Kat and was so intent on finding her, on finding this forgery ring, and yet she failed to make it to Kat’s memorial.

Long fingers reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, preventing her from hiding from him.  She gave him a sidelong look, wondering why he would do such a thing,why he would touch her, his hand lingering under her jaw for the briefest of moments.

“I’d apologize for disrupting your day of mourning but if it means seeing my favorite opera with the woman smart enough to best me, then I can hardly be sorry.”

She glanced away, feeling her lips turn into a small smile, the first of the whole day.  His thumb grazed her lips before he withdrew his hand.  "And if you manage to smile despite everything, my night is complete."

"Are you sure that's why you're here?"  She dared.  "I mean, an opera is pretty fitting, especially considering your circumstances, wouldn't you say, Dr. Lecter?"

Vincent laughed, a different sound than his usually cruel snicker, but just as deep.  He was clearly appreciative of reference to his allusion to the fictional cannibal, certainly amused all the same.  "More so if we were in Florence, sweet Clarice.”

It was her turn to laugh and she was grateful for the dimming lights, lest he see her face turn pink.

“Would that be so bad?” She found herself saying, turning her attention to the stage before she could gauge any reaction from him.  

_ Why does Florence with you sound like a better idea than staying in Paris right now?  At least... after Kat’s killer is found… _ She thought.

“They’ll add years to your sentence for this.” She murmured, changing the subject to bring her thoughts back to the problem at hand.

“You’re forgetting, Ms. (l/n), I’m quite proficient at hiding in plain site.”

“Not with those killer cheekbones, you aren't.” She whispered just before the music began, not realizing she had said it instead of keeping it in her head.

She watched the performance, amazed by the dancers and the singing, done in traditional Italian.  The costumes were magnificent, the set amazing; she had only seen a dress rehearsal of Vincent’s Faust but this….this was something else entirely.

She glanced over to find him focused on the stage, absolutely captivated, dare she think peaceful.  He was always thinking, always plotting.  For once, he looked as if he was enjoying the present, just...watching.  

Was this what he had broken out of jail for?  For a performance and to check if his leftover essence had been tampered with? Surely not, she knew better than to assume something so...innocent from Vincent.  He had helped her three times now, only asking for a secret in return.

A secret he already knew before it left her lips.  Part of her did, in fact, admire him as Hugo had so pointedly stated (perhaps it was a Dubois thing to know how to get under people’s skin), and always had since the date they had met.  Eccentric, of course, even vampiric, but his office was certainly cleaner than Raphael’s, who, for all his want of control over his emotional expression, could never manage to keep the furniture clear of papers.  The devil, however, was self-assured, charming, and damn fine in a three piece Armani suit.

He wanted something and he hated rules and terms that weren't his own.  Vincent was dangerous to begin with; a bored Vincent who was tired of bending rules as much as he could over two years was something else entirely.

She heard a whisper of her name and felt a hand reach for hers, beckoning her from her seat.  Vincent led her out of the box and into the dimly lit hallway, empty except for a single usher who was not paying attention.

“What are…” she whispered, confused.

Vincent said nothing, glancing at the inattentive employee before leading her in the other direction, towards the stage.  His hold on her hand was light, fingertips against fingertips, giving her the chance to pull away at any time.  He opened a door at the end of the corridor, peered inside, and then held it open for her.  She narrowed her eyes at him, silently questioning what he was up to.  

“There's a better view this way,” was all he offered as explanation.  She realized that was all she was going to get from him and stepped through the doorway, wondering just what he was up to.

She let him lead her through the windowless corridor, past costume racks, equipment, and dressing rooms.  They wove their way until they reached the door for stage left, and Vincent tested the handle, silently opening the door and peering around it before leading her through, closing it just as quietly.

The cast members glanced at them but said nothing; she wondered if it was a semi-normal thing for people to watch from here or if they recognized Vincent and knew not to bother.  They stayed in the shadows and out of the way, watching the rest of the opera, their fingers still barely touching.  For someone so cold, his hands were certainly warm.  

She had to admit, it was quite amazing to be all but a few feet from such talented individuals dressed in decadent costumes, juggling pronunciation with volume.  They stayed there for the rest of the performance, which was much shorter than she anticipated, and she followed his lead to get out of the area while the rest of the cast went to take their final bows.

Vincent led her further through the building and out a side door, the evening air cool but not unbearable.  He let go of her hand to straighten his tie, something she was beginning to consider a tic for when he was thinking, looking down the alley to the street.  Part of her wondered if this was what it would have been like for her to have accepted his offer and have helped him in the end, to attend parties and operas and be part of a world she had only ever seen in movies.  Had she accepted, would Kat still be alive, instead of ripped from her life?

What did anything matter if she didn't have a best friend to share it with?  

It hit her then that Raphael was feeling that way, the last time she saw him.  That was her fault, she knew, and she felt the guilt knot her stomach further.

Another person she had failed.

She glanced at Vincent, his peridot eyes lost in thought for but a moment until he realized she was watching him.  She looked away, glancing towards the street to see if any of the passersby were police.

Everyone he had was no longer on his side, even they were only employees.  He had Esteban, she supposed, but what good was a canine soulmate if they weren't allowed in prison with you?  He never struck her as the kind to need or crave human affection, but as much as he considered himself the devil, she supposed Vincent was human and knew as such.

“You should go back to your friends before they think I've done something to you.” He said, drawing her attention back to him as he put his hands in his pockets.  They were standing closer than she thought, and yet again she was reminded of the catacombs.  Two years and a jail cell and he still smelled of the same expensive cologne.  “I'm sure they all know by now.”  

“If they really wanted me, they'd hunt me down,” she said, brushing her skirt again before looking at him.  “Thank you.”

“For what?”  He looked somewhere between puzzled and amused, mostly the latter.

“For your help, and for tonight.  Not that I condone breaking out of jail, mind you.”

“I like to keep you on your toes, Ms. (l/n). It makes easier to do this...” he murmured, stepping closer to bend down and kiss her cheek.  

She felt her face go hot as she realized what he was doing, how close he was to her.  They were enemies, she had wronged him the way no one else had, and he was kissing her cheek?  

Perhaps his allusion to Hannibal and Clarice hadn't been entirely without merit, she supposed.

They stayed close to each other for a moment before he pulled away, taking her chin in his hand and gently turning her head to look at her cheek.  

“Well, I guess my “killer” cheekbones aren't as sharp as you would make them out to be.” He said, smirking at her, dropping his hand.

_ He heard me say that?!  He has the hearing of a fox… _

Her eyes widened at his comment, and she found herself looking for words but they died in her throat before her lips could form them.  She'd never hear the end of it from him, if she ever saw him again, that was.  From the look on his face, he was already enjoying seeing her flounder in embarrassment.  Very, very much.  She glared at him but knew it held no power behind it.

“Are you quite-” she started before Vincent cut her off, pressing his lips to hers, one hand resting on the curve of her neck.   

He broke off, just far enough to breath, their noses brushing.  “Finished?  With you, never.”  He kissed her again, harder, and she was thankful to be wearing heels to make the height difference slightly easier.  The same couldn't be said for her legs, which felt unsteady beneath her, her heart pounding in her ears.  Part of her recognized her old adversary was  _ kissing _ her, but she was far too caught up in how wonderful it felt to care.  

He was warm against the cool evening air as she found herself pulled against him, his free hand tracing her rib cage before settling at her back, keeping her to him.  She wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, how long they were kissing, how long his fingers had been tracing her collarbone and neck, or when she had begun to trace nonsense patterns into his waistcoat, afraid to touch him.

It was Vincent who broke away, stealing a few more, shorter kisses, before whispering, “I’ll be in touch,” to her.  

She opened her eyes to see his figure retreating towards the main thoroughfare at the end of the side street, tall and striking, even in the dim light of the evening.  He glanced back at her, holding her gaze for a moment before he continued on his way.  Whenever he was going, it was in the opposite direction of Raphael’s apartment.

She clutched the empty vial in her hand, hoping it held the answer she sought as she made her way back to her make-shift home.  

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Tumblr at toseetheworldinaworkofart and Wattpad under SweetVenomKiss.


End file.
